


at break of day

by raincityruckus



Series: a lifetime of beginnings [2]
Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sleepy Sex, sass and fuckin', sigtryggr is a giver, some real low key dom energy, you can't prove it's not show canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:53:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25745407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raincityruckus/pseuds/raincityruckus
Summary: “That’s too bad. I’m going back to sleep,” he says, turning his head away from her.Or trying to. His hair is pinned between her elbow and the pillow and the jerk of it on his scalp steals his breath in a huff that makes her laugh. She doesn’t lift her elbow and he didn’t think she would.Or: Stiorra makes getting up at the crack of dawn not so terrible
Relationships: Sigtryggr Ivarsson/Stiorra
Series: a lifetime of beginnings [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1867564
Comments: 19
Kudos: 69





	at break of day

**Author's Note:**

> for maggie, always. and a thousand thank yous to my new enablers, essential to the health of any good fandom experience.

Sigtryggr wakes in the space between heartbeats. The room is cool and dark and for a split second he isn’t sure what wakes him. 

The edge of a nail runs a sharp line along the ridges of his scar down his cheek. When she gets to the bottom Stiorra brushes the back of her finger all the way up to his temple again and starts the process all over. It’s hardly his only scar but it’s certainly the one that holds her attention. Her palm is splayed across his chest, pillowing the weight of her chin. Outside is still quiet, telling him it’s earlier than he wants to be awake. 

He finds it hard to be too annoyed with the long line of her body pressed into his side, his arm still looped around her waist.

“What?” he asks, scuffing his palm down the curve of her hip to palm her ass. Her sigh is a puff of heat against his collar and throat as her hips rock forward. Her finger tip leaves his scar to press into the dimple of his smile.

“I knew you were awake,” she says. 

“Did you get what you wanted then?” he cracks one eye open to find that only a watery sliver of dawn light has slipped around the edges of the curtains. He would bemoan the hours of sleep he’s missing out on but every breath she takes presses the soft weight of her breasts into his side. She bumps her foot against his calf, dragging the sole of it over his skin and she wiggles her hips back into the hand on her ass. Obligingly he squeezes again.

“Not yet,” she tells him, shifting her weight up as her thigh hooks over his and her lips brush his collar. He can feel the smile on her mouth as she walks her fingers back up that scar. 

“That’s too bad. I’m going back to sleep,” he says, turning his head away from her.

Or trying to. His hair is pinned between her elbow and the pillow and the jerk of it on his scalp steals his breath in a huff that makes her laugh. She doesn’t lift her elbow and he didn’t think she would.

“You are not,” she says and strains up. She has to work to press her mouth at the hinge of his jaw, on the sensitive skin behind his ear. His cock, already hard and very on board with Stiorra’s plan, gives an interested bob as he feels the beat of his heart directly at the base. Her teeth catch on the curve of his ear, “see? You’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

Stiorra makes a soft sound of annoyance when he drapes his free arm across his face. His knuckles bump her, she’s so close. He has to press his lips together to smother his smile. His body twists away from her, as much as he can with her weight pressing into him, one arm still trapped under her. For a moment she doesn’t do anything and Sigtryggr has a flash of false hope that maybe he can go back to sleep and they can finish this later. But then she rolls off his arm, the warmth of her body vanishing and leaving his skin cool. 

“Alright,” she says, the bed creaking under the shift of her weight as she slides to the far edge, “If you’re not up for it-”

Sigtryggr knows she’s teasing him. He knows he goaded her into it. A hot flare of possessiveness still lights under his skin, forces the last cobwebs of sleep from him as he catches her around the waist. He drags her back into the furs with him, a half gasp, half shout falling from her as she finds herself bodily dragged back into the warm spot they left in the bed. She puts on a show of resistance, but her laughter undercuts any wriggling in his arms. Her elbow is still vicious sharp when it catches him in the ribs. 

Most of the furs are lost to the floor by the time they are resettled. Her wiry frame is pinned beneath him against the bed, his weight holding her in place. His nose presses against the base of her skull, breathing in the sleep warm scent of her that he’s gotten so used to. Her head tips and her hair falls away, giving him better access to the column of her throat. When he scrapes his teeth at the soft skin behind the hinge of her jaw her hips jerk back into him, rocking the curve of her ass into his cock. 

The answering groan he makes sends a shiver down her spine, pulls a soft gasp from her. 

“Sigtryggr,” she says, her voice cracking and he rocks his hips forward against her again. He tangles his hand into hair, his turn to brace his weight on his elbow. He pulls her hair up out of his way as he drags teeth and lips down her throat, tasting the jump of her pulse under his tongue. 

She tips her hips up as much as the position will allow and Sigtryggr manages to get his other arm around her body. It’s not perfect but they manage it and when his fingers skate the curls at the apex of her thighs he finds her wet and ready for him. His fingers slide against her, chasing the slick of her desire across her folds until he has stroked her everywhere but where she needs him most. 

“If you can’t find it,” she says, a false lightness forced into her voice and he kisses the base of her neck. She wiggles her hips, trying to force his fingers where she wants them but Sigtryggr has her pinned and she makes no headway.

“Stiorra,” he chides her, brushing the edge of his nail against her clit in a motion that has her jerking violently under him, “relax.”

She gives a last defiant wiggle just for good measure before she settles under him, her head falling back and her hips stuttering forward against his hand. He drags his nose up the back of her throat, buries his mouth and nose against her hair to breathe her in. When he feels the tension go out of her, when she stops trying to rush forward he lets his thumb press a hard hot circle over her clit. The sound she rewards him with is a keen from low in her throat and her hips roll forward in a circle that is almost enough to break him. 

He might be tormenting Stiorra but every rock of her hips has his cock sliding against the silk of her skin, pressing tight against the cleft of her ass. Sigtryggr’s amazed he can hear anything she says over the rush of his pulse in his ears. 

This time when he lets his fingers trace the folds of her sex he doesn’t skip over her clit, he doesn’t wind her up by avoiding where she most wants to be touched. He starts with lazy passes of his fingers, sliding over her clit and off in slow, wide passes. It’s not until he feels her trembling under him that he focuses the circle of his fingers, tightens in until he is rubbing a tight pattern right over her clit. She finds her peak with a force that is almost enough to unseat him, her back arching and her hips bucking fiercely under him. 

It takes all of his will power not to finish himself there on the curve of her ass, let the jerk of her hips carry him over his own edge. 

She’s hardly stopped shuddering when she turns her face towards his. She has no regard for the hand tangled in her hair though it has to pull as she leans up into him, slants her mouth against his. It’s not a kiss, not really. She’s breathing hard, her lips parted as they press against his and Sigtryggr finds the curve of her lip with his teeth. 

“Please,” she begs and her voice is wrecked with the force of her climax, raw around the edges. He feels the word like a lick of heat behind his balls and his cock jerks against the curve of her ass. He wants to give her everything she is asking for so badly it’s beginning to ache. 

“Please, what?” he asks, gentling his hand in her hair, letting it slip out of the silken strands. It takes very little shuffling to roll them both onto their side, her narrow frame still tucked in against his. He curls his arm around her head, his thumb skims her jaw, he palms her throat. When they kiss again it’s better, a real kiss and when he speaks it’s against her lips, “Please stop?”

“I will kill you,” she says but it’s no threat, it’s a broken plea. 

“I have you,” he says and bumps his nose against hers, kisses the tip of it as he rolls his weight back and lets her lean more into his chest. He skims his wet hand across her ticklish inner thigh. Though she’s too wrecked to laugh, her skin jumps under his fingers as he guides her leg back up over his.

The angle isn’t quite right and she doesn’t know where to tip her hips. The blunt head of his cock presses against her slick entrance and slides away, dragging over her folds to bump against her clit. They make the same sound of simultaneous pleasure and frustration. Sigtryggr has to lean back, guide himself to her but it’s Stiorra that presses her hips onto him. It’s only been a few hours but the feeling of sliding into her again pulls a ragged sound from him, his lip curling against her jaw. He doesn’t have the leverage for rough or fast but she doesn’t seem to mind when he starts a slow pace that drags his cock against the front wall of her cunt. 

She half turns, tilting her face towards him as her arm comes up over her head. She digs her fingers into his hair, her nails scraping against his scalp. Under his palm her breath is thready and her pulse is racing as their hips find the right rhythm together. The bedroom is quiet, only the sound of their breathing and the soft wet noise of their bodies echoing off the stone walls. With the heavy curtains and the thick silence they could be the only ones on earth. 

He lifts his wet hand to her cheek brushing her fingers against her jaw, the curve of her mouth. Stiorra ducks her head and catches his fingertips between her teeth. Her bite is mean and sharp but she chases it with soft, kitten licks. Sigtryggr’s mouth crashes messily into hers, his fingers in the way and the tang of her cunt on her lips. Her hand twists in his hair, pulling enough that it aches and he flexes his palm around her throat. 

It’s when he feels her fingers sliding against his cock where he fills her that Sigtryggr thinks he’s going to lose his mind. She teases hard, fast circles over her clit as he fucks her, rushing her up the edge of another climax. Stiorra cries out against his mouth and Sigtryggr is all too happy to muffle the sound of her cry in his kiss. It is the clench of her muscle and the buck of her hips that has stars bursting behind his eyes, hot tension at the base of his cock and then just the heady rush of release. 

His ears ring with it.

“Did you get what you wanted?” he asks finally, not caring if he sounds raw and rough or if the words come out as a mumble against the skin of her shoulder. He drags his chin against her and she shivers at the prickle of his facial hair. 

“Not yet,” she says, leaning her weight back into him until he is on his back and she has maneuvered himself up into his lap. Her hands are braced flat on his abdomen as she straddles his hip and in the light that is spilling around the curtains he can see how flushed her skin is, the tight pink nipples that peak her breasts and his spent cock gives a valiant twitch of interest. 

They’ve already made a mess of her. His seed and her slick combine to make the slide of her sex over him all too easy when she rocks her hips against him. He groans, half defeat, half arousal. His hands find her hips and he squeezes, holding her still over him as he remembers how to breathe. Her hair is a curtain of silky brown that spills around her shoulders and her eyes dance as she looks down at him. Their hands find each other when he releases her hips. He rests his elbows on the bed below him and she presses her weight into her palms where they meet his, their fingers laced. 

“What was that?” he asks, his heels braced on the bed so she can lean her weight back against his thighs. 

“Call it a beginning,” she says, her voice pitching low and soft in what he recognizes as her impression of him. When his eyes narrow she laughs, a peal of laughter that shakes her body and grinds her down against him one more. They’re both over stimulated and it pulls a groan from him. 

With a jerk he uses his grip on her hands to spill her forward onto his chest. She can’t brace herself on her arms so the impact is hard, forcing the air from him. He doesn’t care since it also puts her close enough to kiss, chasing the laughter off her mouth. His arms twist around her back, taking her hands with him so she has her arms pinned back at the base of her spine. She twists in her grip, tests the strength of it. When she smiles at him it’s feral in the morning light.


End file.
